Prohibition of the Heart
by Felicity Hartington
Summary: Richard Chase was the King of New York back in the 20's, parties, glitter, and bootlegged liquor were at their height. Annabeth Chase is the gorgeous and bright princess of this city, receiving everything she could ever want. Percy Jackson is a poor kid from Newark, NJ, who, by some misfortune, gets pulled into the Chases' dirty games. Family "business" was never so fun. Rated T!


_**The Deal**_

**A/N: I will have really slow updates on this book, as I'm already trying to write three stories at once! Plus, school is a killer. So, if I don't get around to really quick updates, I apologize! -F.H. **

I remember that day like it was the back of my hand. It was the perfect mornin', the sun was shinin' all nice and pretty, like in those picture shows they been flashin' around in Europe. It looked like it coulda been painted in that sky, the streaks touchin' the water so nicely. The water around that city was like a diamond, shinin' with the specks of God practically. And the city, my God, the city, it was beautiful. Them boys had just built up that eight-story high skyscraper, it touched that sky like it had a purpose. All my life, I searched for things with purpose; it gave me somethin' a little unexpectedly warm inside of me. The one time, I told Ma' about it, she laughed with that warmy-like smile of hers and said, "Percy, that's hope." And my God, I believed her.

We wasn't stayin' in the Ritz or any of that. It was deep in the heart of New York, closer to the outskirts of Manhattan, restin' on that very tip, right as the water reaches up to grab ya'. Our house was nearly surrounded by all corners with fancy mansions that was higher than my sister, Nabelle, who I was convinced was taller that than one of em' skyscrapers. But unlike those fancy skyscrapers, the small shack that we had purchased "cheaply and off-handedly," as Ole' Man Jackson will tell ya', was small and insignificant compared to those grand-spakin' houses. It had one of those tilted roofs that made it look like the backhand of a fryin' pan, and the shingles were all coal-ridden like no one had cleaned off that whack in years. The windows were all disproportioned and that, the door screamed bloody murder if ya' even tried to open it farther than it preferred. The inside of the house wasn't much better; the floor was practically dirt with a few unordered tiles lying around. Yet, Ma' was determined and all that to have everything work out all nice and pretty. As soon as boxes were unpacked and settled, and Natalie had stopped screaming murder at me, Ma' went to work scrubbin' the floors and washin' the walls like some kind of maid.

Ole' Man Jackson, on the other hand, was the usual ole' asshole. With his hooked limp from the war and his drunken slew of obscenities, the ole' man wasn't pleasant to be around. Despite the ole' rat bastard he was, he did love my sistas and my ma'. Him and I never got along, we was always buttin' heads, he always got all confrontational about his work. If you asked me, he was too secretive and all about his work. He called it the "business," whatever the gig was he was so ranked up on, paid better than the last stand he took. Back home in Newark, Pops took a try at the market business, the wage was all nice, but Pops couldn't even keep half of it. His damn superiors ripped it away from him, leavin' us with nothin'. That's when Ole' Man Jackson got in with this new group of boys. They dressed nice, played that slick streak in their cards, and had that real fancy, eloquent way of speakin'.

That's why that day I decided to figure out exactly why Pops had dragged us all here. After a full day of unpackin', at dinner, my back's hurtin' like a nail's been struck through it, and Nadine is screamin' up a storm about how the billionaire next door asked her to some fancy party of his. "And he's so handsome, my God, Mama, he's absolutely divine!" And she's tryin' to sound all edumacated and that. Her voice trying to block out the clipped Italian inflection we all were blessed with, and it's like a nail draggin' across a steel plate.

"Nadine! Shuddaup!" I snapped at the little floozy.

Her eyes narrowed like she was one of those witches, "Oh, dear brother, please stop acting like you were born into a swine's quarters." Her voice is going all deep and rich like she's some sort of cheap royalty. I figure it's best if I just don't say anything, she'll find other way, like they all do, to piss me off.

Pops enters, at this point; he's sober, surprisingly… Well, not entirely. He's swearin' at Norah to sit straight in her chair, and he smells like the ungodly stench of the Huston River. And, yes, it's ungodly. Those damn factories like to dump whatever waste is left from those fancy, brand-spankin' new machines into the water. It sorta made me feel all crumby inside, even though it wasn't even my fault! Anyway, Pops is in a mother of a tizzy, kinda excited about somethin'. He's all squirmy and that, and constantly takin' a sip of his water.

"Somethin' wrong, sir?" I ask him with a swallow of my own glass of water. The ole' man turns to look at me with a glarin' eye, like he thinks I'm tryin' to chase down his little secret.

"Nothin', Perseus, eat your damn peas." That was the fatherly advice he gave me. Eat your damn peas. Thanks, Pops.

"Yessir." My fork stabbed through three of them. Ole' Man Jackson was starin' at me with his murky green eyes, tappin' his chin with a pudgy finger, like he was deeply contemplatin' somethin'. He got that look on his face like he was all about to say something, his mouth openin' and his tongue gettin' ready to make words, and then he just stopped. He knew I was onto him. By God, I would figure out what the ole' man was up to creepin' about.

After dinner, all six of my sistas' sat in a circle and proceeded to sow like they were all little angels, my God, they're from Hell. Ma' was laughin' at somethin' ole' Pops said, and he was smilin' at her like she was the only star in his sky. What I would do to have someone look at me like that, ya' know? I wanted to have a dame to take roun' with me. Just the type of girl who I could take on my arm and show her off to the world, but, knowin' my family and myself, that wasn't happenin' any time soon. It seemed my whole family had someone like that… My sistas' all grew out of the same damn mind, they practically read each other's God damned thoughts. My ma' and ole' man, they were happy with each other and all that. My ma' was always forgiving that rat bastard for everything, bless her soul, my God, she was perfect. I guess Pops never did mean no harm with whatever he did. Bless him for that.

Anyways, we're all sittin' there like we got some sort of show goin' on, and my pops takes out this ole' dinged up pocket watch he's had for a century now, and looks at it. He gets this real strange look on his face, like he's tryin' to figure somethin' out. He gets up without a word of why and flies out the door, you can tell by the door's screamin'. I up and follow, my mother is too busy with Nancy's damn doll that she doesn't see me leave. As soon as I'm out of the shack I follow the ole' man, by the looks of it he's headed for the North Ports. That's where the barges come in and those fancy shiny steel machines. He stops at some edge of the docks, some other boys are standin' round' chewin' on some tobacco, by the sounds of lips smackin'.

I can't help but wonder why Ole' Man Jackson is gettin' up here, though. This place is for them boys with the money. And suddenly, I get the feelin', ole' Pops ain't runnin' with those same boys, like back in the days in Jersey. He's runnin' with those slick bastards who live in the new mansions that swallow our shack. My stomach just plummets like its endless, and I can't even get my grip. My breath comin' out in little blue clouds, as I duck behind a crate to watch my ole' man. He's yellin' up a storm at one of those boys, sayin' somethin' about how Rickey'll be madder than all of Hell lit up.

"This ain't no Jersey gangsta, Mista' Jackson." One of them boys standin' near my pops is sayin'. "This is the goddamn Chase King." My ole' man is all silent, then. I know he's scared, by God, I know. My ole' man never shuts his damn mouth unless he scared to his core. Then the damn slick keeps on talkin' with his suave little mouth, "You ain't got no clue how we run things roun' here." The other boys standin' around the asshole start laughin' like he's said the funniest damn thing. My drunk ole' father is trying to get some words together, but he can't even form sentences.

"We bought you a house, Mr. Jackson, and the only thing we ever asked was a small shipment that we had specially delivered up to Newark, New Jersey. We even allowed you to move your family with you, now if that is not the kindest forgiveness, I don't know what is." A smooth and sleek voice like friggin' silk starts talkin', and instantly, I don't like that guy. He sounds like some sort of rich, but cheap fabric that they hang up in them markets.

"Please, Mista… I only got my damn kids." My father suddenly finds his courage, and I want to go slap him on the back.

"We offered you mercy, Mr. Jackson, when no one else would. We put the clothes on your family's backs, and this is how you repay us." There's a shallow snigger, and then the bastard is silent. Then I hear a click, and I know, that's no shoe against cement, that's a damn pistol. And then, I'm runnin', my God, I started runnin' out in the open, screamin' to stop.

"Perseus, go back to the damn house!" My ole' man's cryin', his tears streakin' down his dirty and fat cheeks.

"No, Pops, I ain't lettin' you get killed. Now, l-l-l-look here, fellas, my ole' man, here…" And I'm standin' there and all, tryin' to find my own words, but these boys, they ain't those clean shaven bastards. They're just like my pops, all shags and dirt. Except for the shiny silver one in the middle. He's got a friggin' shower of gold hair around his face and his stubble is all subtle and that. He looks like one them boys right out of one of those goddamn magazines Natalie's always carryin' around. He's dressed in that nicer-than-heaven silky suit with a small handkerchief tucked all nice and pristine in his pocket. He smiles at me and I realize, I'm not starin' at no man, but a damn snake.

"Is this your beloved son… _Perseus_, right? How sweet of you to come and take a stand beside your father. I find these things so sentimental." He smiles and he's talkin' with that damn gun, it's really pissin' me off.

"You know, Mista, it would be the darndest nicest thing if you could put that gun down." I say with a surprisingly steady voice.

"Oh? This gun?" He holds up the small silver pistol. That thing could rocket through my brain in less than a second. "My, Percy, we wouldn't want anyone to get hurt, so why would I do that?" He smiles that damned snake-like smile, and I can _picture _the bastard's little forked tongue coming out of his mouth. And I know, for the life of me and Ole' Man Jackson, I gotta do somethin'.

"_Wait!_" My voice is all shaky and quivery, like I'm scared or somethin'… Which I was, extremely so.

The damn bastard smiles his little snake grin. "Yes, Perseus?"

"You boys… I know bout' ya'. You're all part of that damn bootleggin' business, aren't you? Let me help ya', I'm good, believe me. I'll be worth your penny, if you spare my damn father. He ain't smart, I'll tell ya', but he's a good man, he pays his dues and watches out for a little shit, like me, so please, sir… Jus' give a boy a chance?"


End file.
